


Flowercrowns

by crowbeau



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Coital Cuddling, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 21:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16982565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowbeau/pseuds/crowbeau
Summary: The Summoner encounters a certain undead former King of Askr under strange circumstances; an even stranger relationship ensues.





	1. Lethal Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Summoner makes a fateful encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im a simple bird, i see a ghost king, i kiss the ghost king
> 
> anyway its 2am here in GB by i just finished all my exam work so now its obviously time to wrITE

She’d… surprised him; she wasn’t supposed to be here, not now.  And yet-,

 

Líf lunged at her, the Sökkvabekkr’s rosy glow briefly exposing the gleam of fear in those eyes beneath their hood’s shadow.  And even with that fear revealed, the Summoner did not attempt to flee.  Instead, she withdrew a weapon of her own.

        “The Breidablik.”

        “You know it then,” said the Summoner, straightening.

The former King of Askr took a step back, studying Kiran in a new light now that she’d revealed herself as the Breidablik’s keeper.

        “I am curious,” he allowed.

The Summoner watched him warily, curious herself as to his identity and his purpose in coming across the border.  Before she could enquire, Líf lifted his sword again and the Summoner simply squeezed her eyes shut, freezing up in the moment as he brought the blade down.

But no blow came.  Instead, the former King of Askr had simply tossed back Kiran’s hood with the tip of his sword.

Her snowy hair tumbled down her frame and she blinked, grey eyes widening as she realised she’d been exposed.

        “You are-, who she chose.”

        “The Breidablik.”

Líf nodded.

Kiran squinted at him. 

The soft bluish glow from his core made the Summoner’s eyes look like pools of aquamarine.  She looked so alive.

 

        “Why-, are you here?” Líf asked.

        “I could ask you the same thing,” returned Kiran, sheathing the Breidablik.

It seemed as though Líf didn’t intend to fight her.  Though his true intentions were still as nebulous as his middle.

        “Witty.”

        “A Summoner’s got to be,” said Kiran and a flash of amusement danced in her eyes, “how else could I manage all those Heroes?”

Líf made a sound and it was only much later that the Summoner would realise it was a laugh.

        “You are-, alone here,” he noted.

His voice came out hoarsely from behind the armour at his chin.

Kiran shrugged, “I needed some space.”

        “I could’ve-, killed you.”

        “And yet,” the Summoner said, “here I am, untouched.”

Líf stepped closer to her.  The heavy jet-black metal of his armour gleamed as rays of sunlight dappled down through the trees overhead.

The former King of Askr lifted a gauntleted hand and traced his thumb across the Summoner’s rosy cheek.

        “You are-, alive,” he said.

        “So are you.”

Líf chuckled again.

        “No,” he said, dropping his hand to his side, “I am-, not.  Reanimated, maybe.  But not-, alive.”

        “You certainly had me fooled,” said Kiran with a cautious smile, “if it weren’t for that ribcage, I doubt I would’ve noticed the whole-, dead-, thing.”

Líf glanced down at his core, put a gauntleted hand over it as though to staunch the glow.

 

        “It makes you look so... ethereal,” said Kiran, watching as the light flowed endlessly across his middle, “you shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

        “Not embarrassed,” Líf said, “ashamed.”

        “If I were dead, what colour do you think _my_ core would be?  Blue like yours?”

Líf didn’t offer any response.  Kiran simply moved onto a new question.

        “Who are you?  You’re not from Nifl or Múspell.  And you can’t possibly be Emblian.  Are you a friend of Prince Bruno’s?”

Líf studied her quietly, weighing his options.

        “I am from-, the West.  A soldier.  From the Realm-, of the Dead.”

        “Hel,” Kiran said with a nod, “I’ve read a bit about it.”

Líf exhaled through his nose in what must’ve been an impressed snort.

        “You’re not just a solider though, are you?” the Summoner asked.

        “A general,” Líf agreed, “but a servant-, nonetheless.”

Kiran let this information sink in for a moment.

 

        “Can I touch you?” she asked.

Líf recoiled at the question, startled.

        “If not, that’s okay too,” said Kiran, “I just-, you glow.  You’re glowing.  And that’s-, nice.”

        “Nice,” Líf repeated, having found the adjective to be new and unused.

It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him like this.  Or, so he thought; his reanimation did not allow for many memories of the past.

Although-,

        “You’re warm,” Kiran commented.

She’d removed one of her gloves and put her bare hand against the former King of Askr’s core. 

        “Like you’re alive.”

        “Not alive,” Líf reminded again.

It wasn’t that he was warm, not really.  Rather, it was simply as though Kiran’s warmth radiated from her fingertips and into his core.  It was a strange feeling, though not necessarily unwelcome.  She was so alive. 

The Summoner shrugged, “Debatable.  Tell me then, General, do you have a name?”

        “Yes.”

A grin tugged at the Summoner’s mouth, “Care to share?”

        “It is not-, important.”

        “Also debatable,” Kiran said.

        “Líf,” the former King of Askr offered, “that is-, my name.”

The Summoner studied him for a moment, scrutinising with a thoughtful frown.

        “Líf,” she repeated, and his name sounded nice on her tongue, “but that’s-,”

Kiran trailed off and lifted a hand, carefully brushing aside his dark fringe.

        “You’re Askran,” she said, “aren’t you?”

        “I was.”

        “Before?” Kiran asked.

Líf nodded.

 

        “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit intimidating?” the Summoner asked.

Líf blinked.  He hadn’t been expecting her to shift her focus so easily; many often got hung up on his previous life and the man he’d been before-,

        “I am-, unnatural,” the former King of Askr allowed.

        “Me too,” said Kiran with a small smile, “but who cares?”

Líf looked down at her.  She was quite the strange little thing.  For some reason, though, he was beginning to warm up to her.  Something about the way she acted, how she was confident and yet cautious at the same time, it reminded him of-,

        “Your armour is very edgy,” said Kiran interrupting the former King of Askr’s thoughts.

        “It has-, many points, yes,” he agreed solemnly; he’d never really given his dress much thought before now.

Kiran laughed.

Líf turned to look at her.  She sounded so alive.  Something about that sound, about the way that the joy lit up her face-,

       

        “Does this-, amuse you?” Líf asked.

Kiran shook her head and smiled at him, “I meant that it’s dark and kinda-, villainous; you’re dressed like a bad guy.”

        “I am-, not good.”

The Summoner frowned, “Well that’s plainly not true.  You haven’t killed me yet so, I think you’re pretty good.”

        “I attempted,” reminded Líf, “earlier.”

        “But you didn’t follow through.”

The former King of Askr huffed out an irritated snort.

        “I won’t argue,” he said, “but I am-, not good.  You remind me-, of someone I knew.  Someone I-, loved.  Even now-, I want to steal you.”

        “Steal me?”

        “Take you back-, to Hel with me,” Líf explained and he refused to look into her face, “and uncover why-, I feel this way.”

Kiran watched him.  The fact that she still did not attempt to flee was enough to make Líf seriously consider what he’d said.

 

        “I have-, no heart,” he said, gesturing to his ghostly core, “and yet-, some desire-, is welling up.”

Kiran blinked slowly as his confession washed over her.

        “Oh,” she said lamely, dropping her gaze to his core.

The bluish glow reflected upon her face and it made her expression impossible to read.  Líf nearly put his hand to Kiran's chin to tip her head up so he could see her gaze properly.

He stopped himself as she put her bare hand to his core again, thoughtful fingers tracing the lines of his ribcage atop his sheer skin.

        “Why you?” Líf asked, “Are you-, special?”

        “I ask myself that every day,” said Kiran.

It was only now that Líf realised how tired she looked.  It was hard to see her exhaustion when she smiled—the brightness was a convenient mask—but as she stood there, deep in thought, Líf recalled when his own Summoner had-,

And before he’d thought things through, the former King of Askr embraced her, pulling Kiran against his ghostly chest.  Her warmth flooded his core and Líf resisted the urge to squeeze her, as though to force out more of that warmth he so desperately craved.

        “King Líf-,”

        “No-,” he said into her snowy hair, “I am-, no king.”

        “Lord Líf then,” Kiran corrected, and her words made him shudder.

He blamed the bodily response on the feel of her breath across his ghostly skin.  But the fact of the matter was that no one had called him that since-,

 

        “It’s okay,” said the Summoner.

And she lifted her small hands and returned his embrace.  The former King of Askr sagged against her.  He had needed to hear those words for a long time now and yet never known it.

        “It’s okay, Lord Líf,” she said again.

        “I want you-,” he said, “to come back to Hel-, with me, Summoner.”

Líf released his grip on her and instead settled for holding Kiran’s hands in his own. Her warmth permeated through his dark gloves, and folded between his icy fingers.

        “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” the Summoner said, anxious.

        “I will-, protect you.”

The Summoner ran her thumbs against the meat of Líf’s palm.

        “I have to protect Askr,” she said, “I made an oath.”

        “Hel welcomes-, oathbreakers,” the former King of Askr noted.

Kiran gave him a sympathetic smile.

        “I know, Lord Líf.  But-,”

        “It is-, your duty,” he agreed, “you should-, return to them.”

The Summoner looked into his face.  She wondered if the exhaustion in his eyes was a side effect of his reanimation.

        “Will I ever see you again?” she asked.

It was strange of her to enquire; they both thought so.

        “At-, some point,” said Líf, “I am fated-, to clash with Askr.”

        “You’re Askran.”

        “I was,” the former King of Askr agreed, “once.  But-, no longer.”

        “I don’t want to fight you. I won't.”

        “That is not-, for you to decide,” Líf told her quietly.

Kiran lifted her head and gazed off into the distance, forlorn.  Something about her expression made the former King of Askr’s gut wrench.  He wondered if he ought to ask Hel why he was experiencing such strange sensations when he returned to her.

        “Summoner,” Líf said, “go, now.  We were never-, meant to meet like this.”

        “But we did,” Kiran reminded.

She took her hand from his only to lift it to his face and trace the line of the armour that guarded his mouth.

 

        “Do you have one underneath all that, a proper mouth?”

        “I did, once,” said Líf, “now, I am-, not so sure.”

Kiran nodded, “I see.”

        “Should I be the one-, who slays you,” the former King of Askr said, “I will make it-, painless.  You can join me properly then.”

        “Thanks,” said the Summoner, “I think.”

Líf snorted again, amused by her reaction; he did so love the living.  Hel surely would’ve tortured him for holding such tender regards for those outside her domain.  But Líf could not help himself—some part of him yearned to return to life, truly.

        “In any case,” said Kiran, bringing Líf back from his musings, “I should really get going.  The others have probably noticed my absence.  Alfonse will be getting... worried.”

        “Alfonse?”

        “The Prince,” the Summoner offered.

        “Alfonse,” Líf said again, “a good name.”

        “A good _prince_ ,” said Kiran, “he really cares for Askr.”

Líf nodded.  For a moment, the Summoner was certain he was going to say something.  But the former King of Askr appeared to have thought better than to say and instead tipped his head into the cradle of Kiran’s bare palm.

        “Well,” said the Summoner, “I guess the lack of a proper mouth never stopped me.”

        “Stopped you-, from what?”

Kiran rolled up on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Líf’s armour.

        “From giving a proper kiss,” she said, taking a step back.

Líf stared at her, struck speechless by her actions.

        “I don’t want to fight you,” Kiran said again, “and I hope we can meet on better terms in the future.”

        “Summoner-,”

        “You don’t have to say anything,” she said quietly, “I just wanted you to know how I feel about this.  About you.  And-, that goes for Thrasir too.  She would be a nice ally.”

        “She is-, a nice ally,” Líf agreed finally.

        “I’ll see you sometime, Lord Líf,” said Kiran.

And then she reached up and pulled her hood low over her face before slipping into the thicket without a backwards glance.

        “Sooner than you think,” the former King of Askr said into the silence.

 

        Líf stood in the forest for what felt like a long while after Kiran had left him.  It was only when the last whispers of her warmth began to fade from his core that the former King of Askr contemplated returning to Hel.

        “She’s certainly a card.”

The voice had Líf drawing his legendary blade, startled.

        “Thrasir,” he acknowledged as she dropped into the clearing.

The tension sank from Líf’s shoulders and he slowly sheathed the Sökkvabekkr.

        “It is rude-, to spy.”

Thrasir grinned at him, “It’s rude to ignore your duties to the Queen as well.  Yet you seem to have no problem doing that.”

Líf blinked owlishly at her and had nothing to say; she was right.

        “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and gotten attached to that one now,” teased Thrasir.

When the former King of Askr did not rise to the bait, she frowned.

        “She’s a living creature, Líf.  She must die, Hel commands it.”

        “Not yet,” said the former King of Askr, “we can give her-, a bit more time.”

        “Líf.”

        “Thrasir,” he interrupted, “you know I have always-, supported your ideals, supported the Queen.  Not once-, have I gone against your wishes.”

The former Empress of Embla watched him, curious.

        “This one-,” Líf said, “she is different.”

        “She isn’t,” said Thrasir.

Líf stared at her wordlessly.

        “I will not-, argue,” he said finally, “but I will be-, the one who deals the killing blow.  She is mine.”

        “That’s not for you to decide.”

        “Do not-, use my own words against me, Thrasir.”

The witch came to stand before him and lifted a hand to the armour at his chin.  With a whispered spell, it faded from his face, leaving his pale skin exposed.

        “Looks like you do have a mouth after all,” said Thrasir.

Líf said nothing.

        “Be careful what you use it for,” the former Empress of Embla warned.

        “Thrasir-,”

        “I’m heading back,” she said, pushing a gauntleted hand through her wild hair, “don’t stay out here too long.  You might catch something.”

Líf lifted a brow.

        “A cold, perhaps,” Thrasir elaborated with a shrug.

It wasn’t what she’d wanted to say.

        “I am not-, alive.”

        “Then, just watch your back, Glowstone.”

 

***

 

        For the next few days, the Queen had charged Líf with learning the patterns of the Askran Order; she wanted her strike on Askr to be swift, her conquest victorious.

Líf had wondered briefly if this was somehow Thrasir’s doing; had she told Hel of Líf’s brief entanglement with the Summoner?

It was on the fourth day that Líf’s dedication to the cause dwindled.  And this was because a certain Summoner was making the patrol on her own.

Líf found himself skirting cautiously closer, curious as to what she was doing out here, and alone again, even in knowing of Hel’s impending attack.

        “Surely-, she is not so-, foolish.”

 

        Kiran had requested to patrol alone, knowing that her route would stretch past the gentle forest where she’d first encountered Líf.

It was stupid, really, to pause and then to trek up into the forest.  The Summoner did it anyway.

        “Are you here, now?” she asked, stepping through the trees.

It was silly.  She hadn’t expected a response.

        “Summoner.”

And yet she got one.

        “Lord Líf-?  I wasn’t expecting-, wow.  You’re here.”

The former King of Askr looked up from where he was sitting at the base of a nearby trunk.

Kiran took a few steps in his direction before he finally pulled himself to a stand and met her halfway.

Líf came to her and lifted a gauntleted hand, pushing back the Summoner’s hood.  The fabric pooled across Kiran’s shoulders and her wild mass of snowy hair fluffed out to frame her round face.

        “You should not-, have come here,” said Líf, “it is-, dangerous.”

        “I wanted to know if you were still-, I was just hoping that I didn’t drive you away.  ‘Cause last time I was sorta-,”

Kiran trailed off and shrugged, unwilling to look into Líf’s face.

        “You are-, troubled,” the former King of Askr noted.

Kiran sighed, “Yeah.  I guess I kinda am.  I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

She rubbed an eye and Líf studied her quietly.

        “Listen,” the Summoner said, “about what happened last time-,”

She shifted, uncomfortable.

        “You are talking-, about the kiss.”

        “Yeah,” said Kiran, “I am.  I-, I shouldn’t have done that to you so suddenly, I-,”

The former King of Askr lifted a hand to his face and recited the spell that Thrasir had taught him.  The armour at his chin faded and he took Kiran’s hand.

        “Do not apologise,” he said.

Without the armour, his voice sounded clearer.  It was gravelly, but something about that rugged gruffness was comforting.

Kiran pinked.

        “So you _do_ have a mouth under all that-,”

The rest of her sentence died on her tongue as Líf hooked an arm around her middle and pulled her closer, pressing his mouth atop her own.

 

If the former King of Askr had had any reservations about initiating some form of intimacy with Kiran, her eager mouth had certainly been helpful in dismissing his rising worries.

The Summoner parted her lips easily, hands exploring the sheer skin atop Líf’s ghostly core.  The former King of Askr manoeuvred her backwards until Kiran was pressed up against one of the nearby trees.

It was then that he broke their kiss and the Summoner gasped for breath, cheeks dark.

“You are so full of life,” said Líf, looking down into her face.

He gently ran a thumb across her cheekbone and Kiran nestled closer into the chill of his palm.

        “So you-, I-, last time wasn’t-, bad?” the Summoner asked, and then wished she’d ended up articulating a different sentence.

Líf chuckled.

        “Though my desires remain nebulous to even me, I do feel a genuine draw to you, Summoner.”

        “You Askrans are like that,” Kiran teased.

        “I am not Askran.  No longer,” reminded Líf.

The Summoner nodded, “That’s true.  Maybe you’re just special then.”

Before she could contribute any more witty comments, Líf seized her in another kiss, holding her steady with a hand at her jaw.  Kiran melted beneath him, eyes fluttering closed as Líf tasted her.

When he withdrew the second time, the Summoner let out a shuddering exhale, twitching as Líf undid the first few clasps of her tunic; the metal at his fingertips was icy against her bare skin.  Kiran was quiet except for a few pants as the former King of Askr's gauntlets clicked against the clasps. Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, the former King of Askr was quick to plant his mouth upon Kiran's now-exposed neck.

        “ _Líf_ ,” she gasped, small hands reflexively clenching in the matted fur of his thick mantel.

Líf dug his teeth into her skin and she sank back against the tree, panting into his ear.

        “Lord Líf-, I can’t-,” the Summoner choked out, sagging against the wood at her back.

When the former King of Askr withdrew, Kiran sucked in a shallow breath.  Líf lifted a hand and ran the metal tips of his gauntlet across the mark he’d made upon the Summoner’s skin.

        “I-, I’m sorry,” Kiran said, doubling over with a pant, “I’m just-, exhausted.  The tactic meetings have been running long and Eir's been so troubled, and I-,”

She shook her head and straightened.

        “You do not have to pretend with me,” said Líf.

He’d paced away and resettled at the base of a nearby tree.

        “Come, rest.”

       

“Here?” Kiran asked.

The former King of Askr nodded, patting the ground in front of himself.

        “You don’t mind?  I won’t sleep long, promise.”

Kiran trudged over and settled between Líf’s legs, leaning back to rest her head at his shoulder.

        “It’s really not a bother?  I mean-, surely you have a lot to do-,”

        “It can wait,” the former King of Askr said, and his voice was gruff in Kiran’s ear, “I have an eternity.”

The Summoner laughed softly and then sighed, “Yeah.  I guess you do.  Maybe being dead isn’t so bad.”

        “It is not unpleasant,” Líf told her.

        “This is crazy,” said Kiran with a smile.

But she did not attempt to change anything.

Líf waited for her to drift off.

 

        The former King of Askr had contemplated humming one of his old Askran lullabies.  Thrasir had always loved that when they were younger. 

Did she?

Líf frowned.  His memories had been foggy, all streaming together into one grey existence in his mind.  To have suddenly recalled a part of the past—to have remembered a tune now lost to time—it was unprecedented.

The former King of Askr wondered again if he ought to ask the Queen about these new experiences.  What was happening to him?

With Kiran slumbering against his chest, Líf cautiously lifted a hand and put it overtop hers.  She didn’t react.  Of course she didn’t.

        “You are very alive,” he said though she could not hear.

And then, unable to help himself, the former King of Askr put his arms around the Summoner, resting his chin upon her shoulder thoughtfully.

She dozed on.

        “Your life should disgust me,” he said, “and yet, when I am with you, you shine with a light the likes of which I’ve never seen.  What are you truly, Summoner?”

       

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Líf lifted his gaze, unsurprised.

        “Thrasir,” he greeted, “it is only natural for me to be here.  This is my post.”

Thrasir studied him for a long moment in the silence, taking note of the way he’d caged Askr’s Summoner, legs pitched up on either side of her and arms folded protectively across her belly.

        “Well!” Thrasir said, brightening with amusement, “ _you’re_ certainly in rare form today.  And without all your armour, how unusual.”

        “Things have taken an-, unexpected turn,” Líf supplied, sinking back to rest his chin at Kiran’s shoulder.

Thrasir squinted at the Summoner.

        “I told you to watch what you did with that mouth of yours,” she reminded.

        “To be sure,” agreed Líf, “I was certainly watching what I did.”

Thrasir stared at him.  And then she laughed.

        “Did you just-, make a _joke_?”

Líf thought for a moment.

        “It seems I did, yes.”

        “Wild,” said Thrasir.

They were both quiet for a moment, letting this strange development sink in.

        “Thrasir.  I wanted to ask you something.”

        “Ask anything,” the former Empress of Embla said, dropping down against the tree across from him.

Líf’s thoughts returned to the lullaby he’d considered humming to help Kiran rest.  Thrasir had liked hearing it, once.  Or, so Líf thought.

        “A long time ago,” said the former King of Askr, “before we became Generals-, do you remember it?”

        “What, you mean when we looked after Eir?”

Líf blinked.  Was that what they'd done?  But immediately, just as he prepared to fight for the memory, it rose easily to greet him.

        “Yes,” he said, “when we watched over the Princess.  There were times when-,”

He closed his eyes, concentrated. 

        “You’d play your lute and I’d sing.  In the Princess’s garden, always and only ever for her.”

The former King of Askr almost smiled at the memory.

Thrasir watched him quietly.

        “Do you remember it, Thrasir?”

The former Empress of Embla dropped her gaze.

        “Only now that you’re mentioning it,” she said.

Líf frowned.  What had happened to them?  How could they have forgotten such precious memories?

        “And why am I only now recalling them?”

        “Oi, what’s with you?  Why’re you bringing up the past now?  Is this Summoner making you sentimental?  Don’t you dare start yearning for life, Líf.”

        “Perish the thought, Red.”

Thrasir snorted at the nickname; Líf didn't call her that often anymore.

        “What are you planning to do now?  You’ve sure caged that Summoner nice and tight.”

The former King of Askr dropped his gaze, studying the chipped polish on the Summoner’s nails.

        “I-, like things this way,” said Líf.

        “That makes no sense.  You hardly know her and she hardly knows you and yet the two of you-,”

        “I cannot deny the strange nature of this relationship,” Líf admitted, “but I will not deny myself any longer.”

        “And by that, I hope you intend to take her life here and now so that she may reign in Hel with us.”

        “We do not reign in Hel,” said Líf, “we merely serve.”

       

“Don’t be naïve about this, Líf.  If you killed her, not only would our Askran conquest be made impossibly simple, but you would also get to keep the Summoner all to yourself back in Hel.”

Líf thought about that for a moment.  He recalled how she’d asked what colour her core would be in death.

_Blue like yours?_

Líf realised he didn’t care.  He didn’t want her to have a ghostly core.

        “I do not mind her this way,” he said.

        “What, alive?  Don’t joke about that sorta stuff.  Everything is better dead, you know that.”

Líf wasn’t so sure.  Kiran was plenty nice alive.  She was the only thing that was nice alive.

        “Nice...” he mused aloud.

That was how the Summoner had described his core; she’d been the only one.

        “Well, if you think she’s nearly tolerable alive, think how wonderful she’ll be in death!” Thrasir reasoned.

        “She would-, be lacking something,” said Líf.

        “Yes, _life_!  Which is what she’s supposed to lack!  That’s part of being dead, Líf.”

        “It is more than that.”

Thrasir eye him, doubtful.

        “What then?” she asked.

        “I-, am not sure,” admitted Líf.

The former Empress of Embla sighed and got to a stand, her spectral bones clicking at the movement.

        “I’m heading back,” she said.

        “I’ll join you tonight.”

Thrasir studied him for a few more moments.

        “I don’t want you hurt, Líf.”

        “I am dead, Thrasir.”

The former Empress of Embla nodded, “Right.  Well, thanks for the reminiscing.  That was-, nice.”

That word again.

        “Yes,” agreed Líf, “it was.”

        “Maybe we can talk about it more sometime,” said Thrasir.

Had he the memories to share, Líf would’ve been more than willing.

        “See you, Glowstone,” Thrasir said with a wave.

Líf nodded to her and she winked out of existence, leaving him alone with the sleeping Summoner.

The former King of Askr raised his head slowly.  The sun was beginning to set; darkness would soon fall.  Though the time of day didn’t matter to him one way or the other, Líf was certain Kiran had her own opinion about it.

He didn’t want to rouse her, not when she’d apologised so profusely earlier for her exhaustion.  In death, Líf wasn’t sure he felt any sort of sluggishness from lack of sleep; such an experience was so unlike living that he wasn’t sure how to interpret the sensations.

 

        Líf didn’t get much time to consider his options as Kiran shook herself awake.

        “Lord Líf,” she whispered in sleepy greeting, “I hope I didn’t keep you from your duties.  I-, I hadn’t intended to sleep for so long.”

        “It is no trouble,” the former King of Askr said.

 There was something about Kiran that calmed him; it was such a juxtaposition to the fact that she represented all that he despised.  Or, at least, what he thought he did.

        “I should go,” said the Summoner.

As Líf released her and she got to a stand, the former King of Askr lifted a hand to his chin and his armour sheathed up his face.

        “Oh,” said Kiran, blinking at him as she lifted her hood back over her head, “it’s back.  You know, that makes your mouth look like it glows a bit.”

        “I have never-, given it much thought,” Líf said.

Kiran smiled at him, “Thanks for keeping me company.  I always feel so stressed back in Askr with all these tactics meetings. But you-, you don't really judge me. You're like... my rock.”

        “Though I am-, glad to have seen you,” said Líf, “it may be better-, that you do not look for me-, in the future.”

        “If that’s what you really want,” Kiran said.

She didn’t look too enthused by this.  To be fair, neither was Líf.

        “Allow me one last thing, then, if that’s how this has to be,” said the Summoner.

Líf nodded.

 

The Summoner put her hand to his ghostly chest and pushed up onto her tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to the armour atop his mouth.

Líf’s core felt hot with a blush.  Which should’ve been impossible.  But given Kiran’s wide-eyed stare, perhaps it was less impossible than he’d initially thought.  That seemed to be a common theme when the Summoner was involved.

        “You’re-, you’re glowing pink,” Kiran murmured, awed, “your core, it’s gone rosy-!”

        “I am-, embarrassed,” Líf admitted.

Kiran blinked and stared up into his face, disbelieving.

        “You can blush?”

        “It seems that way.”

        “Oh no,” said the Summoner, “that’s very cute.”

        “I am not cute.”

Kiran grinned at him, “Debatable.”

        “Return to Askr now, Summoner,” said Líf, lifting a gauntleted hand and patting her a few times on the head.

If they continued like this it would become impossible for him to leave her side.  And things were already complicated enough as it was; Thrasir had been kind enough to point that out.  With this discomforting thought, Líf’s core returned to its original bluish hue.

        “I want to see you again,” Kiran said, “I know that it’s not proper.  I know this is bad.  For both of us, but-,”

        “I will-, see you again,” said Líf.

Kiran brightened, “Really?”

        “A reunion is inevitable.”

        “I don’t mean I want to see you on the battlefield,” the Summoner amended and with that, she lost a bit of her brightness.

Líf had the sudden urge to take back all he’d said and instead embrace her.  He wanted to tell her that he had such great difficulty when leaving her.  So why bother?  He was done with denying himself, wasn’t he?

        “I am not-, sure under what circumstances-, we will meet again,” said Líf, and his core returned to its usual blue.

        “Well I hope they’re good circumstances.  Because I like you, Lord Líf.”

The former King of Askr blinked.  Subconsciously, he’d known this.  But to hear it right from Kiran’s lips-,

His core went rosy.

Kiran laughed and patted his arm gently, her warmth needling its way between the fibres of fabric until it sank into his chilly skin.

        “I will see you again, Lord Líf,” she promised, “under good circumstances.”

And she turned and stepped into the thicket.  Líf did not try to stop her.

        “How can you be-, so sure, Summoner?” he wondered to himself.

And the former King of Askr stood alone in the forest until the affection in his core had been swallowed by a mellow blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehehe the undead heart yearns! my undead heart yearns for sleep,,,  
> goodnight my children,,, typos will be fixed in the morning,,, why is the title "Flowercrowns"? what could it mean? questions for another,,, time,,, ahhhhh oyasumi <3
> 
> (also! credit to @twilight--princess on tumblr for the idea of an embarassed Lif who turns pink! <3 please go check out all that artwork!)


	2. Gold, for Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling unsettled about leaving things as they did, Lif infiltrates the Askran Castle to discuss matters with the Summoner at length. Their casual conversation devolves into a complex evening of sharing feelings and admitting half-truths. Lif begins to yearn for something more in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh it was so nice to return to this! i had no intention to keep away for so long; this semester has really been kicking my ass! (but boy, have i been learning a lot!) 
> 
> anyway this isnt really a big deal but i should give a slight warning that towards the end of this chapter, there are some implications towards Kiran experiencing some sort of negative relationship prior to her arrival in askr. (i have no intention of focusing on this, but i wanted to mention it just as a warning to anyone who may be triggered by a similar experience!)
> 
> also im literally just crafting an entire second universe for feh because they dont give us any fuckin lore and i am a whore for that shit,,, goddamn,,,, anyway! here we go! lif backstory! kiran backstory! emotional baggage! love-making! we got it all this time, babey! whoo!! (i am very tired)

The former King of Askr did not think himself a young noble blinded by love.  And yet his feet had betrayed him upon this very night, and led him to a castle that had once been his own.

Líf paced down the hallways, one hand trailing across the worn cobblestone walls as though a mere touch would be enough to return his memories of this place.

It wasn’t.  He was guided only by spectral echoes of long-forgotten laughter and an insistent hand that ghosted across his own.  Whenever Líf turned to get a look at the spirit of the past that accompanied him, however, they only chuckled and pulled their hood down lower. 

It was only when the former King of Askr made it into the sector containing the Summoner’s quarters that the spirit at his side granted him a glimpse of a fleeting memory. 

 

…Following the meeting of the Nine Noble Houses, Líf had snidely remarked about the severe lack of humour present in the party from Níflheim.  His companion—and beloved Summoner—had grinned widely at the comment; Líf knew them well enough to hear the smile even from beneath the shadow of their hood.

        “You’d think the winter weather’s made them colder in more ways than one,” he added with an annoyed snort.

The Summoner chuckled.

        “Improper as always, aren’t you, Líf?”

Líf glanced over at them.

        “To be sure,” he said, winking at them, “though I’m certain you’d hear no complaints from those at our parley; I can behave myself.”

        “On rare occasion,” the Summoner allowed, amused.

Líf elbowed them lightly, “Watch your tongue.”

The Summoner chuckled again and lifted their head so that their smile was visible.

        “Líf,” they said softly.

        “Yes?”

The former King of Askr turned to look down into their face, curious.

He was haunted by what he found.

 

The gentle smile of his beloved Summoner was stained with blood.  Tears gathered at their exposed chin and they reached out a trembling hand towards him.

        “You let me die, Líf,” they hissed raggedly.

Blood spilt from the left corner of their mouth and they staggered towards him.

Líf took a step back, terror rooting around mercilessly in his chest.  He extended a hand to halt his Summoner where they stood and-,

His hand.  He stared, transfixed, as his skin yellowed with the unmistakable shade of death.  Hel’s armour sheathed up the length of his arm and his core’s blue glow was swallowed by a sputtering violet light.

        “Why didn’t you save me, Líf?  Was I really so expendable?  Why did you let this happen to me?  Why weren’t you there?  Why, Líf?”

        “ _Enough!_ ” the former King of Askr choked out, “That’s enough now, &*$%#!”

        “Lord Líf, please!”

 

At the sound of the voice, Líf cautiously cracked open one eye.  He was startled to find Kiran before him.

She flung back her hood, grey eyes wide with worry.

        “I-, don’t know what’s going on with you, but we need to go-,”

        “I can’t-,”

Kiran grasped his hand and pulled him emphatically, “I know.  It’s okay to be scared.  You can close your eyes and hold my hand.  But we have to go now.”

Líf looked her up and down as he stumbled behind her; Kiran’s Summoner’s cloak hung lopsided across her frame as though she’d slung it on with great haste.  As he studied her further, he realised it wasn’t even an evening gown that she’d donned but rather a nightgown.  It billowed about at her ankles as she hefted the hem up with her free hand as they mounted the stairwell together.

        “Lord Líf,” Kiran said again as she tugged him up the winding spire that led to her private quarters, “your core was an awful violet colour; what happened to you?”

Despite her inquiry, the former King of Askr sensed that she wasn’t expecting any reply.

***

 

        “’Scuse the mess,” said Kiran, leading Líf to her desk chair and helping him ease down into it.

The moonlight turned Líf’s skin silver as it filtered through the window and down upon them.

        “Summoner-,”

        “Just rest there for a moment,” she interrupted, “I’ll get the gas-lamp going.”

Líf nodded and looked blankly at the desk, lifting a gauntleted hand to trace the crude carvings across the worn wood. 

Books of various training styles and battlefield tactics were strewn about.  Líf chanced a glance at one of the open volumes.  The first few lines were highlighted, choppy notes scribbled in the margins; that was likely Kiran’s chicken-scratch script.  Further down, however, she’d obviously gotten bored and that had resulted in a variety of twisting doodles.  Líf traced the little daisy in bottom left-hand corner of the page.

In the soft safety of Kiran’s chamber, a critical part of Líf’s core managed to resettle in its proper place and he let out a relieved breath.  Feeling as though he’d regained his composure, he finally turned his attention upon Kiran.

 

She was having severe difficulty getting the gas-lamp lit.  Líf got to a slow stand and made to help her; the lamps had been installed at his behest in the past after all.

        “Summoner,” said Líf, his raspy voice startling her, “allow me.”

Kiran tensed as the former King of Askr put a guiding hand atop hers.

        “It is-, like this,” he said, and the Summoner shuddered as she felt Líf’s body press up against hers.

When Líf drew back and glanced down, he found Kiran staring up into his face, watching him carefully with those wide eyes of hers.

        “Summoner, I-,”

Kiran pinked and her blush was dark in the dim glow of the gas-lamp’s flame.  She averted her gaze and ducked away from Líf, aiming to put some distance between herself and the former King of Askr.

Líf caught her by the arm and Kiran’s face lit up with surprise as Líf pulled her back to him.

        “Summoner,” he said, “it is-, unlike you to be-, so flighty with me.”

Kiran stared up into his face for a long moment before dropping her gaze to the worn rug beneath her bare feet.

        “Yes.  Well.  I’m sorry, Líf.”

She had unwittingly dropped his title and the former King of Askr blinked, startled by it; such plainness had been reserved only ever for-,

        “My Summoner-,” he breathed, his mouthguard unsheathing into nothingness.

Kiran’s eyes widened at his words but Líf didn’t give her a moment to reply, instead choosing to bend down and crook his neck so he could press his lips to hers in a cautious kiss. 

 

The Summoner made a small sound, almost alarmed by his forwardness.  Líf was only encouraged by her reaction and after a moment, slowly went to taste her.

        “Líf-,” Kiran whispered, her breath a puff of warmth against Líf’s ghostly mouth.

        “Again,” he returned with equal softness, “just once more, Summoner, and I will be satisfied.”

Kiran’s gaze hardened and she took a step back.

        “Líf,” she said, “you need to tell me what’s going on with you.  What happened earlier?  And what are you doing in Askr?”

The former King of Askr released his grip on Kiran and she straightened her Summoner’s cloak quietly, refusing to meet his gaze.

        “I came here to apologise to you,” said Líf finally.

Kiran blinked.

        “What?  Why?”

It was Líf’s turn to avoid looking at her.

        “I-, was very forward with you in the forest.  It was-, improper of me.  I was irritated by something Thrasir said to me earlier and wanted to prove that her implications were-, baseless.”

Kiran’s expression danced until she managed to reign in the emotion and simply nod.

        “And were they?” she asked finally, “Lady Thrasir’s implications, that is.”

Líf gazed down at her.

        “I am-, not sure,” he allowed.

 

        Kiran nodded again, unwilling to push him on the topic; it was truly none of her concern what went on between Hel’s Generals.

        “Right then,” she said finally, “well I appreciate the apology.  It’s nice to be treated decently around here for once.”

Líf blinked.

        “Your treatment here is unfair?”

        “Oh, no,” said Kiran, realising what she’d made things out to sound like.

        “Most everyone is very kind to me,” she said, “but, the weight of the Breidablik is a heavy one.”

        “The destiny of a Summoner weighs no less than Ásgarðr,” Líf agreed solemnly.

Kiran studied him quietly, “Do you know a lot about Summoners, Lord Líf?”

The title was back and the former King of Askr found himself wishing to hear her speak plainly again; he liked that minute informality.  But maybe it wasn’t so much Kiran’s casual address that pleased Líf, perhaps it was that she’d reminded him of the past, of someone he’d held dear and lost.

Maybe it was for the best that the title stayed.

 

        “An unexpected inquiry,” Líf noted.

        “I only ask because you recognised the Breidablik immediately when we first met,” she said, “and surely you had a Summoner when you were-,”

        “Yes,” Líf said, cutting her off mid-sentence so he didn’t have to hear her call him King, “yes, it is true that Askr found his first Summoner during my lifetime.”

Kiran took his hand carefully and led him to the bed.  She perched on the edge of it and after a moment, Líf realised she was expecting him to join her.

He tried not to think about her current attire and sank down at her side, determined to keep his gaze on the rug beneath their feet.

        “If you don’t want to talk about Summoners-,”

        “No,” said Líf, “it’s likely for the best.  I ought to apologise for frightening you earlier.  I did not think that being back in my own lands-, that is to say, being back in Askr, would cause such-, a negative reaction.”

        “And this negative reaction… turned your core that awful violet?”

Líf nodded.  His Summoner’s broken body flashed in his mind and he closed his eyes slowly; this was one memory he could do without.

        “Yes,” he said finally, “I-, can hardly remember my past now that I’m a General of Hel.  And yet, when I returned to this place and walked these halls, a great many memories returned to me.”

        “But that’s-, a good thing, right?”

Líf frowned, “One would think so.  But among these were the memories of my Summoner, Summoner.”

        “Oh, you can just call me ‘Kiran,’” said Kiran, “that’s what everyone else calls me.  It’s sorta like my title here.”

Líf turned to stare at her.  There was a flicker of some aching emotion in his hazy eyes.  Kiran studied him, curious as to his reaction.

        “I’m afraid that won’t do,” he said finally, “for that was once the name of my own Summoner.”

Kiran blinked.  The name of Líf’s-,

 

        “It is likely that in order to keep your previous life and your present one separate, the Order has elected to give you your own Askran title.”

Kiran thought about this; she had had no idea that her title led all the way back to Askr’s first Summoner.

        “Tell me, Summoner,” said Líf, “do you recall your old name?”

Kiran’s expression darkened and she refused to look at him.

        “No,” she said softly, “I’ve forgotten it.  Whoever I was before I became Askr’s Summoner, it seems I don’t need to remember that person anymore.”

Líf frowned at her.

        “That’s-,”

A streak of violet smoke curled about within Líf’s core.  Kiran turned and bit her lip when she noticed it.

        “I didn’t mean to upset you, Lord Líf.”

        “Those words-,” the former King of Askr said, “for some reason, Summoner, they fill me with such sorrow.  And I wonder if this ache within me is not merely sympathetic, but rather, recognition; you are like me.”

        “What do you mean?”

Líf took her hand and held it.  He seemed put at ease when they were touching.  Kiran leant to rest her head on his shoulder.  Her heat permeated Líf’s skin and he hummed, comforted by it.

 

        “When the Queen reanimated me,” he said, “she made me one of her Generals and gave me new purpose.  Serving the Queen became the only thing that mattered, Summoner.  And my life before—the time I’d spent as King of Askr—it became meaningless.  And I soon forgot.”

Kiran closed her eyes and squeezed Líf’s hand in her own.

        “My memories have long since left me,” Líf continued, “and every part of me that clung to humanity was soon to follow.”

He paused, thinking.

        “And slowly, as I lost even my grip on reality, I forgot more than just the memories, Summoner.  I forgot who I used to be, what I stood for, the histories that I helped build, and everything in-between.  Reanimation is not life, Summoner.  Reanimation is a cruelty—an eternal agony.  I am an oathbreaker and I will suffer for it.”

        “Líf,” Kiran breathed.

She lifted his gauntleted hand and pressed her lips to his knuckles.

        “Please don’t say such things about yourself,” she murmured.

       

“This is what I’d thought,” the former King of Askr admitted, “and I was resigned to that existence.  And then _you_ appeared.  Summoner, it has only ever been _you_ who was not afraid, who did not shy away from me and from what I am.  Though I have no answers as to how things have developed as they have, I know only that you, and you alone, have found a way to remind me of who I was.  You’ve given me a way to regain what I thought I’d lost forever.  And I am forever in your debt.”

The glow of Líf’s core flared and the blue swirled until it was replaced with its rosy tone.

        “There is something about you,” he said, “that has changed me for the better.  I cannot help but try to cling to that feeling, Summoner.”

        “Lord Líf-,”

Before Kiran could continue, there was a knock at her door.

Líf took Kiran roughly by the arm and pressed her back against the wall, extinguishing the gas-lamp with practiced ease. 

“Quiet now, Summoner,” he hissed, and his ghostly breath made Kiran’s skin tingle with gooseflesh.

The Summoner scarcely dared to breathe, acutely aware of how Líf’s body was pressing up against her own.  Kiran lifted a hand and put it to his ghostly sheer skin.  The former King of Askr’s attention, which had been focused on the door, snapped back to her at the gesture.

        “Summoner-,”

        “I appreciated your apology,” Kiran whispered, “but if I didn’t want you to touch me like you have, I wouldn’t have let you, Lord Líf.”

At the words, he tensed.

        “Summoner, I hardly think this is the best moment to discuss-,”

        “I know,” she breathed—but it came out more like a hiss—“but you came all this way, and with what’s been happening lately in Hel, I just thought-, we might not get to see each other for a long time.”

This seemed to give Líf pause.  He looked down into Kiran’s face, his core alight with a delicate rosy glow.

        “Summoner-,”

        “I was exhausted the last time we were together,” Kiran admitted, “but I-, I really did like-, I want you to do those things again.  I want you to touch me again, like you did in the forest.”

Líf blinked.

        “It has-, always been quite unlike me to do-, such things,” the former King of Askr said, stumbling over the confession with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence, “but now, to hear you say that you desire that from me even now-,”

Kiran peeked up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

        “Will you deny this Summoner, Líf?” she asked softly.

The informality was back and Líf was powerless against it. 

 

The former King of Askr fitted one of his gauntlets behind Kiran’s hood, cushioning her head as he bent to press his ghostly lips atop hers.

Líf’s mouth was insistent against the Summoner’s and she seemed to melt in his embrace, eagerly welcoming his attentions; the former King of Askr was beginning to enjoy this enthusiasm.

        “Líf-,” she murmured, breath deliciously hot against his mouth when he withdrew to allow her a moment’s respite.

Líf lifted his free hand and traced the line of her rosy cheek, amused by the dust of desperation he founding waiting there.

        “What?” Kiran muttered, squinting up at him curiously.

Líf gazed down at her and didn’t honour her with a reply; he was much more interested in sweeping her off her feet and seeing just how much more of her skin he could map beneath his mouth.

As the former King of Askr swept Kiran into his arms, she let out a startled gasp, her breath hitching perfectly, hot against the shell of his ear.

 

        The former King of Askr eased his Summoner down into her cushioned desk chair and she gazed up into his face.  Líf unclasped his thick mantel and let it pool atop the ornate rug; the damn thing was beginning to get in the way. 

Kiran shamelessly shrugged out of her Summoner’s cloak and watched the former King of Askr as he took her hands in his own and knelt before her. 

        “Lord Líf-,”

        “Summoner, please,” he interrupted, “no formalities.”

        “But-,”

        “Just for tonight,” the former King of Askr promised, “just for tonight, we are merely ourselves.  I’m not one of the Queen’s Generals, and you, no longer a Summoner, Summoner.”

Kiran nodded wordlessly and Líf leant to rest his head against her thigh, closing his eyes with a pleased exhale.

        “I’m sorry I don’t have a proper name for you,” she said with a breathy laugh.

Her tone did precious little to hide the embarrassment behind the admission; she was clearly upset that she’d forgotten her true name.

        “It isn’t a problem,” Líf reassured quietly, tracing old runes across the thin fabric of her nightgown, “with any luck, the only name getting said tonight will be mine.”

Kiran blinked.  It took a few moments for the former King of Askr’s words to register.  When they did, the Summoner burst into laughter, disbelieving.

        “I-, did you just make a joke-?  Who in the world are you and what have you done with Líf?” she asked with a smiling giggle.

Líf’s gaze softened and the smallest of smiles broke out across his face as he looked up at her.  Against all else he’d said—especially in regards to the Queen reanimating him and giving him new purpose—Líf still could not deny the fact that this little Summoner was someone he wanted to protect.

She reached down and brushed his long fringe from his face.

        “You always look like you’re hiding,” Kiran murmured, “I want to see you, Líf.  I don’t want you to hide around me.”

No, it was more than that.  Líf didn’t just want to protect the Summoner, he wanted to make her happy.

       

“Líf,” whispered Kiran, “ _Líf!_ ”

The former King of Askr shook himself to dispel his thoughts and glanced up at her.

        “Your core,” she murmured, “it’s changing again!”

Líf turned his attention upon his middle and just as Kiran has said, his rosy core was speckled with golden stars.

        “Gold,” said the Summoner, “what’s it mean?”

The former King of Askr traced another rune circle across one of her thighs.

        “Happiness,” he said softly, “golden light is for happiness.”

 

***

 

        “You’re happy?”

Líf snorted, amused, “I should certainly say so, Summoner.  You and I are together.  I like that; I like being with you.”

Kiran pinked and Líf straightened, gripping the Summoner’s arm to keep her steady as he put his mouth to hers.  Kiran inclined her head and Líf sank back down to rest on his knees again, gauntleted hands chilly as he carefully traced his way up the inside of the Summoner’s thighs.

        “Líf, what’s-,”

        “Sh,” he murmured, “you’ve made me very happy this evening, Summoner.  I want to do the same for you.”

The smallest shadow of nervousness passed across Kiran’s face and Líf watched her wordlessly as he removed his gauntlets and dropped them atop his discarded mantel.

        “I want to touch you, Summoner,” he elaborated quietly, “and I want you to feel some pleasure when I do.  Is that alright with you?”

He looked into Kiran’s face and she was beet-red.

        “Summon-,”

        “Yes-!” she spat out and then quieted, “yes, that’s quite alright.  I-, would like that.  I mean, I-, I’d like-, yes, please.  Please continue.”

Some foreign feeling—which would later be identified as amusement—sparked within the former King of Askr’s chest as he gazed up at this blushing Summoner.

        “It’s for your enjoyment,” Líf reminded, pushing the edge of Kiran’s nightgown up around her wide hips, “so if anything is-, unpleasant-, do say so.”

After a moment, he added: “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

        “You’re silly,” said Kiran, “I doubt you could ever disappoint me, Líf.”

He shook his head, disbelieving, and then leant in to press a kiss against the Summoner’s inner thigh.  She gasped at the sudden attention, at the minute flicker of chilly lips against her bare skin.  Líf was quick to press another up her leg, massaging the wide expanse of her exposed skin with his free hand.

       

        With a casual nudge, Líf had the Summoner part her thighs and he bent to drag his teeth against her skin.

        “ _Líf-_ ,” she hissed, “don’t tease me-!”

The former King of Askr chuckled soundlessly against her leg and resumed his mouth’s upwards travel before Kiran could comment further.

When Líf reached the soft cotton of the Summoner’s panties, she moved to close her thighs, embarrassed.  Líf pressed one last lingering kiss to her skin before he parted from her and looked up into her face.

        “Summoner,” he said, and his voice was both soft and heavy at the same time, “Summoner, would you lift your hips for me?”

        “Líf, you-, you really don’t have to-, we can just-,”

        “Summoner,” he breathed again, “I _want_ to do this for you.  I want to see your toes curl in pleasure—and for me to be the one who is pleasuring you.  Summoner, I want to hear my name spill from those lips and then capture them with my own.  I cannot help but lose myself in these feelings when I am around you, Summoner; this is the wildest and most primeval of magic that I have ever experienced, and whenever you touch me, I pray it will never end.”

 

Líf hooked his index fingers into the waistband of Kiran’s panties and she shifted so he could discard them, leaving her bare beneath her nightgown.

        “I didn’t know you were a poet,” she said as casually as she could.

Líf snorted, “I spent a lot of time learning Askran history.  You should ask your Askran Prince about it sometime.”

        “So you’re a scholar-king, then!” said Kiran, amused, “Who knew?  I certainly didn’t peg you as the type!”

        “Yes,” agreed Líf, and his breath was chilly against the Summoner’s bare thigh, “the pegging is for a future evening, I’m afraid.”

        “The pegging is for-,” once she understood what he meant, Kiran bit her lip and shook her head, “you’re really just a Prince in the body of a General, aren’t you, Líf?”

        “Oh, bite that tongue now, Summoner!” he muttered, and his ghostly mouth twitched against a grin.

        “Bite it yourself,” Kiran shot back with a giggle.

With her off-guard, Líf took the opportunity to dig his teeth into the meat of her thigh and the Summoner gasped in surprise.

        “Oh-!” she hissed, “You devil!”

        “It is much too conceited to say,” commented Líf, “but it’s only natural for this devil to be devilishly handsome as well.”

        “Comes with the territory,” agreed Kiran with a snicker.

It seemed that their back-and-forth had eased her anxieties and she didn’t flinch when Líf pushed the fabric of her nightgown up to her hips.  Before Kiran had time to work up her worries again, Líf ducked low between her thighs and pressed his tongue to her entrance.

 

        The Summoner gasped at the attention and Líf was eager to see what other sounds he could get out of her.  Kiran lifted a hand to stifle her cry, the other dropping reflexively to the crown of Líf’s head.

Her warmth permeated through him and he took a moment to appreciate how wet she’d become; he was glad his previous ministrations had had an effect on her.

Líf turned next to the Summoner’s clit, sucking experimentally at her.  Kiran tensed at the attention and the former King of Askr returned to massaging the meat of her thighs in an effort to calm her; this would all be pointless if she didn’t enjoy herself.

The Summoner let out a shaky breath and relaxed, having reminded herself that Líf was doing this because he wanted her to feel good.

        “I’m sorry,” she whispered; she was always mucking stuff like this up back home.

At the thought, Kiran froze up.  ‘Back home’?  A memory-,

Líf leant back to press a kiss to the Summoner’s thigh, reassuring her that everything was alright.  There was no reason to apologise. 

That’s right.  Maybe it was better to be a Summoner than-, whoever she’d once been. 

        “Go away,” whispered Kiran, squeezing her eyes shut, “I don’t want to think about you right now.”

For a moment, Líf was startled by her words.  But then, upon realising her mind was a million miles away, he was careful in trying to draw her back to the present.

 

***

 

        Kiran gasped again, yanked from the past and back to her place in the desk chair as Líf propped one of her legs over his shoulder, eager to lave his tongue into her at a new angle.  He explored her gently, mindful of her sensitivity, and relished her warmth.

When Líf chanced an upwards glance—eager to see Kiran’s expression—he was relieved to find her cheeks rosy, gaze half-lidded with pleasure.  Her breaths came out in staccato pants, shallow and desperate as Líf pressed deeper, opening Kiran up gently with his tongue.

Had he still been the King of Askr, Líf was certain he would’ve worked hard to keep this view seared into his memory; it would’ve been dream-fodder for-, a long time.

 

As Kiran slipped further into ecstasy, Líf made his second attempt at her clit, tasting her cautiously at first.  The Summoner’s fingers clenched in his hair but she did nothing to stop him.  Still intent on bringing her to a starry climax, Líf sucked ever so gently at her clit and Kiran choked on whatever she was going to say.

        “ _Please-,_ ” she gasped out finally as Líf struggled to find a good rhythm, “I need-,”

And it was so _good_ , to hear the aching whine in the Summoner’s voice.

        “ _Líf_ -,” she begged as he sucked insistently at her, “please-,”

The former King of Askr was more than happy to hear that of all the things she’d learnt to say, ‘please’ was amidst the most popular.

Líf gave her one last lingering taste and Kiran was spilling with a sob.  Her cunt spasmed as her orgasm hit and all the tension left her body at once, leaving her boneless in the chair.

 

        Líf got to a slow stand.  He was certain that had he been counted among the living, his legs surely would’ve given out from a lack of circulation. 

He gazed down at Kiran, whose breaths were little more than gasps as she sat prone beneath him.  It took great effort for her to look up at him and there were unspent tears in her eyes.

Something awful stirred within Líf and the gentle rose of his core was briefly flecked with violet.  The cruelty Hel had instilled within him reared its ugly head and for a terrible moment, Líf had the overwhelming desire to slay her.

Kiran reached out a trembling hand and Líf was already taking it before he registered his own actions.

        “Are you alright?” he asked, squeezing her hand before bending to sweep her into his arms in one fluid motion.

Kiran nodded wordlessly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.  The gesture was oddly infantile and Líf put his forehead to hers in the silence.

The Summoner’s heart was still hammering in her chest and in between breaths, Líf could hear it, quick but steady.  Alive.

 

        The former King of Askr carried Kiran to her bed and he set her down carefully.

        “Wait here a moment, Summoner,” he said quietly, “I’ll bring you a fresh gown and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Kiran nodded again and moved to begin unbuttoning her nightgown.  Her snowy hair crowded her face and Líf ran one of his hands through it, pushing the heavy mass back over the Summoner’s shoulders.

Something about her movements was uncharacteristically mechanical and Líf studied her for a long moment in the silence.  Something about those movements-,

The rosiness of his core faded back to its mellow blue.  A streak of electric red raced down his spine, but Líf turned away from Kiran to gather her gown and towel before any unpleasant theories began their formation in his mind.

 

        When Líf returned to Kiran, she had managed to partially disrobe, her gown pooling around her atop the sheets.  The former King of Askr tossed it into her hamper and returned to kneel before her again.

        “Summoner,” he said softly, “may I wipe you down?”

Kiran, realising she was being addressed, shook herself and turned her attention upon him; she seemed to have trouble focusing.

        “I know you’re tired,” said Líf, “and we’re nearly done.  Let me clean you up a bit and get you changed.  Does that sound alright?”

The Summoner looked at him for what felt like a long time.  Just as he was about to repeat himself, she nodded.

        “I guess so,” Kiran said, “I’ve never done that before.”

Líf blinked.  Surely she wasn’t-, he hadn’t been the one to take her v-,

        “You-, no one has ever cleaned you up?” he asked.

The former King of Askr was careful to keep his tone neutral; he wasn’t sure what had happened to cause Kiran’s shift in behaviour and he didn’t want to do anything to worsen things.

        “No,” she said, “why would they?”

 

        Within Líf’s core, it looked as though a bomb had gone off. 

A kaleidoscope of angry hues whirlwinded together and he braced himself against the edge of Kiran’s bed, blindsided by emotion.

        “Summoner,” he breathed, haggard, “I am so sorry.”

The apology seemed to spark something within her and Kiran snapped back to her usual self.

        “Lord Líf-,” she murmured—that damn title was back—“please-, don’t apologise to me.  There’s no need for you to-, you-, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

        “You didn’t-, you didn’t upset me,” Líf clarified roughly, and his words felt like they didn’t fit properly in his mouth, “I was simply… surprised.”

        “Surprised?” echoed Kiran, not understanding.

Líf wasn’t sure how to explain why he’d reacted as he did; something about the Summoner’s behaviour had made him uneasy and it was only her confusion at such a decency that had confirmed his rising suspicions.

The former King of Askr wanted nothing more than to know what sort of memory Kiran had been about to relive earlier.  And then, he dismissed it and moved to part the Summoner’s legs.

        “Summoner-,”

        “I can do it,” she said quickly and there was a flash of shame that flooded her round face.

        “I _want_ to,” said Líf, refusing to relinquish his grip on the towel, “it’s my responsibility.”

Kiran didn’t have the strength to fight him on it and instead simply nodded, parting her legs for him.  For some reason, that felt worse.

 

        Once Líf had towelled Kiran off, she stifled a wide yawn and hastily attempted to blink sleep from her eyes.

        “Don’t fight it,” said Líf, helping her ease her arms into the wide bell sleeves of her fresh nightgown, “you deserve the rest.”

Kiran was quiet for a moment as Líf did up the buttons of her gown.

        “Do I?” she asked him.

The former King of Askr looked up into her face.  She seemed genuine in her inquiry.

        “Of course you do,” he reassured, uncertain why her behaviour had become so erratic.

What sort of experiences had she had prior to becoming Askr’s Summoner?  Were those things Líf even wanted to know?  Maybe it was better for the both of them to remain ignorant of Kiran’s past; maybe she had been right earlier, and the past didn’t matter.

But it did, didn’t it?  The past shaped the present and had the power to change the future.  Surely ignoring it was-,

        “Oh,” said Kiran, and that drew Líf back to the here and now, “maybe you’re right, Líf.”

She’d dropped his title again and the former King of Askr bent to embrace her.  Kiran did not react for a moment.  And then, ever so slowly, she lifted her arms and returned his embrace. 

And then she began to sob soundlessly against his chest. 

Líf held her as she cried.

       

“Stay,” she gasped against him, and there were years of pain built into that one word, “please, don’t go.  Please don’t leave me all alone.”

Líf shifted and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then cradled her against him, resting his chin atop her head.  Her wild hair smelt like lemon tea and rose petals.  He closed his eyes.

Kiran’s hands dropped to her sides and Líf released her carefully.

She’d fallen asleep.  He brushed a thumb across her tearstained cheeks.

 

        Líf eased Kiran down atop her duvet before shuffling over to pick up his cloak.  He pulled on his gauntlets and clicked them experimentally.  Satisfied, the former King of Askr returned to Kiran’s side and tossed his cloak over her. 

        “Summoner,” he breathed, carefully brushing her wild hair back from her face, “I want to call you by your name.”

She didn’t reply.  Líf sighed and then sank onto the bed next to her sleeping form.  He didn’t require sleep like she did.

It didn’t matter.

Líf took Kiran’s hand in his own.  Her warmth came readily, eager to chase away all the icy loneliness that clung to him.  Líf was unsurprised; that was just the way that this Summoner was.

Kiran was always chasing icy loneliness away, and it wasn’t just Líf’s.

Líf smoothed her hair again with his free hand and closed his eyes, focusing on the slow, steady beat of her heart.  In the silence, it was the only sound.

The former King of Askr gazed down at Kiran, curled beneath the matted fur of his mantel.  It reminded him of the countless nights where he and Thrasir had slept with Eir, always ready to chase away her nightmares.

She had always wanted to hear a lullaby.

Líf began to hum a long-forgotten tune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when im sad i like to imagine the song that lif hums is the old germanic kids rhyme 'backe backe kuchen' ('bake, bake a cake').
> 
> but really, he's likely humming some song by herbert groenemeyer because lif just gives off those slight Dad Energies (more specifically, he's likely humming the chorus of 'bist du da' ('are you there?'))
> 
> also! credit to @WhiteManju here on ao3 for the idea about Lif sneaking into askr! that was a core idea for this chapter, obviously, so i couldn't have done it without you, Manju! thank you! <3


	3. The New Domain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiran is relieved to wake and find that Lif has kept his promise to stay by her side. However, when confronted with her future as Askr's ally and Lif's enemy, Kiran falters. Lif offers her an alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yall,,,, im sleepy,,, anyway here's more of that good good kiralif!)

There was a knock at the door the following morning. 

Had the Askran Castle always been so busy?  Not that that was the sort of question someone like Líf should’ve been asking.  Especially given…

He glanced down at Kiran, who was cradling one of his hands to her chest as she slept on, completely unaware of the Order’s movement around her. 

When a second knock came, more insistently, Líf gently nudged the Summoner with his free hand.  It hurt him to rouse her; she looked so peaceful when she slept.  And he knew from their previous encounters that she was in dire need of it.

        “Summoner,” he murmured.

She had to be woken, though; Líf couldn’t remain here for much longer.  He had already crossed the line in an inconceivable way when he’d elected to spend the night at her side.  He knew that he should’ve been disgusted by his behaviour. 

The best course of action was to now return to his Queen and receive ample punishment before begging for her forgiveness.  This lingering love for the living, it did no one any good.  And yet, as Kiran sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes and still gripping Líf’s hand tightly in her own, the former King of Askr could not find it within himself to regret anything he’d done.  

 

        “Líf,” Kiran breathed, and the name was full of such complex and heavy emotion.

The former King of Askr was startled by it, his core cycling through the colour wheel as various emotions flickered through him, breezing in and out before he had time to identify them. 

        “You stayed,” the Summoner whispered, squeezing his hand.

Líf could only nod.  Whatever words he’d wanted to say, they weren’t meeting his lips.

        “Thank you.”

She brought his hand to her mouth and pressed a lingering kiss to the dark steel of his gauntlet as she released her grip on him.

        “Summoner,” said Líf, and his voice was muffled against his mouthguard, “I cannot-, remain here-, for much longer.”

As he spoke, the voice out in the hall multiplied.

Kiran got to an unsteady stand as Líf paced to the window, gazing out into the courtyard below.  Two figures stood with heads bowed together in quiet conversation.  Líf recognised their emblems to signify the Royal Line of Nífl.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered where the eldest princess was. 

        “Líf-,” Kiran breathed again, drawing him back.

It was so nice to hear her speak so plainly; Líf wanted to ask her to say his name a thousand times.  Then he could leave without regret.

What was it about regret?  Was it regret that made it so difficult to part from her?  Kiran was meant to be a stranger.  And yet, Líf recognised her, somehow. 

 

The Gate of Helheim flickered to life as Líf contemplated these foreign feelings.  When the way became clear, he turned to look at Kiran.

        “Summoner,” he said, lifting a hand and offering it, “you and I-, we do not have to part-, ways here.  You could-, come with me.”

Kiran stared at him, grey eyes wide with surprise; she had never expected such an invitation.  Though he’d said something similar earlier, when they’d first met in the forest, the words had been somewhat threatening—a General contemplating capturing his enemy—but now…

Things were different.  This offer, this extended hand.  It felt like a second chance; this moment was an olive branch, meant to serve as a love letter to some vital past that Kiran had long since forgotten.  It was some set of murky memories that were entwined with her fate as much as they were with Líf’s.

This was all pre-destined, though impossibly unwritten.  And yet somehow, despite everything, still unchanged. 

Here they were, together again, at last. 

Kiran blinked.

 

        “This time I-,”

Líf trailed off and shook his head.

        “I promise-, to protect you, Summoner.”

When the former King of Askr raised his head to gauge Kiran’s reaction, he could only stare at her.  Lines of tear streaks parsed the freckles on her cheeks.

        “Summon-,”

        “I’m alright,” she murmured, and the words were hoarse and shaky, “I’m okay.  I just-,”

Kiran paced to him and looked up into Líf’s face.  Her gaze was just as tired as it had been back in the forest.  And yet, she was radiant.

        “No one has ever said such a thing to me,” said Kiran by way of explanation.

The Summoner reached over to draw up the Breidablik.  It flickered to life, whirring slowly at her touch.

“I am Askr’s Summoner,” she murmured, “and a pillar of this Order.  I cannot be weak.  And yet, for some reason, it makes me so very happy to hear you speak those words.  You and I are strangers, aren’t we?  So then why?  Why do you make me feel such things, Líf?”

The former King of Askr reached out towards her just as the lock of Kiran’s door clicked.  He wanted so desperately to tell her that he felt exactly the same.  Why was this so familiar?  Why couldn’t he remember?  He… needed to remember.

       

“Well?” Líf said, and there was a soft desperation in his voice, “Are you coming?”

To part from her now, after what they’d done—to part from her even after she’d asked only one thing of him: “stay”—it seemed damn near sacrilegious. 

Kiran cradled the Breidablik to her chest.  And then she bowed her head and took Líf’s hand.

        “Yes.”

And that was all; there was nothing more that needed to be said.

The door came open behind Kiran and over her shoulder, Líf saw Prince Alfonse and Eir standing together in the doorway.

Líf pulled the Summoner to his chest, sheltering her with his thick mantel.  There were no words.

Alfonse was still only staring as Líf fell back through the Gate of Helheim.  The movement seemed to spur him into action, however, and he made for them.

        “ _Thrasir_ ,” Líf breathed.

And then she was materialising beside him, side-eyeing the former King of Askr with a knowing look as she pulled the Gate closed.

The three of them tumbled to earth in Hel’s domain.

 

***

 

“You’ve become greedy in death,” Thrasir said, her spectral bones clicking as she got to a stand.

Kiran blinked, disoriented by the sudden shift.  Líf pulled her to a stand and tossed his fur mantel around her shoulders.  She was barefoot and still clothed in only her nightgown.

Líf swept her into his arms and turned to Thrasir.

        “Red-,” he said, “our Queen-,”

        “Let’s go,” said Kiran, who slipped easily from his grasp to stand on her own two feet, “we wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

She turned to stare up at the wide doors of the Palace.  Líf took her roughly by the arm, halting her.

        “Summoner,” he said, “she is not like-, anyone else you’ve met.  She is not-, understanding.  She is not merciful.  She will-, take your life-, for herself.”

Kiran’s gaze was steely as she looked into Líf’s face.

        “Lord Líf,” she said quietly, “your Queen will do no such thing.”

Thrasir snorted, “I suppose my doubts were baseless indeed, Líf.  You certainly have the same taste in Summoners as ever.”

Líf did not grace her with a reply.  Thrasir shrugged and winked out of existence, likely skipping ahead to the dais.  She’d speak with the Queen before Kiran’s arrival.

        “Summoner-,” he tried again.

        “Líf,” interrupted Kiran, “I know what I’m doing.  I’m not naïve and helpless.  I am Askr’s Summoner and wielder of the Breidablik.  I am not like the Heroes you have struck down, nor am I even like the Askran Royal Line.  I am something altogether different.  Do not forget it.”

He stared at her; where was this coming from?

        “Now,” said Kiran, “it’s rude to make a lady wait, especially your Queen.  Are you coming with me, Líf?”

        “Yes,” he said.

This felt wrong.

 

***

 

        The inside of the Palace was quiet.  The distant sound of metal shifting and bones clicking was enough to send gooseflesh skittering up Kiran’s arms.  She pulled Líf’s mantel tighter around herself.

        “Ah.”

It was the Queen’s voice.  The Summoner raised her head slowly as she paced forward, stopping just before her feet met the edge of the dais.

        “You’ve come to me,” said Hel, “like a sheep comes for slaughter.”

She rose languidly to a stand, gliding down to Kiran’s level.  Even toe-to-toe, Hel stood nearly a metre over the Summoner.  Kiran craned her neck to look into the Queen’s face.

Hel stretched out her hand.  Her scythe spun into existence, the curved blade stretching back behind Kiran.  Hel yanked it closer so that the slick steel was pressing into the fur of the borrowed mantel.

Kiran didn’t move.

        “You are not faint of heart,” the Queen acknowledged, “nothing less is to be expected of The Stranger.”

        “Is that what you call me?” Kiran asked.

Her tone gave nothing away.  Líf stepped into the Palace behind her, the glow of his core sputtering to a dark violet shade.  This too, was familiar.  He couldn’t let things continue as they were.  And yet, he was powerless to do anything.  He could not disobey his Queen.  He could not fail to save Kiran. 

What option was left?  Which was the right choice?  What had he done last time?

… Last time?

His Summoner’s broken body flashed in his mind and Líf stumbled back, squeezing his eyes shut.  He couldn’t think of them, not now. 

He couldn’t lose Kiran again.

 

        “It matters not what you are,” Hel offered, “for you bleed and die as all things do.”

        “Gods don’t die.”

The four of them were quiet.  Thrasir finally let out a disbelieving snort; she was equal parts horrified and delighted by the Summoner’s gall.  There had never been a single soul to speak so dismissively towards the Queen before now.

Hel cracked an honest-to-God smile. 

And then she raised her scythe.

 

        The Queen of Helheim hefted up her weapon, the blade sharp enough to gleam in the pale lamplight.  Líf’s hand dropped to the Sökkvabekkr at his side and he began to draw it.

It was like trying to draw the fabled Excalibur from her sacred stone.  Sable pitch blackened at the sheath and the sword buzzed, its pale rosy glow flickering beneath the slimy darkness.

Líf released his hold on it as the blackness threatened to spread further and consume him.  What was it?  It was so achingly familiar.  Why?  Had bringing Kiran into the Land of the Dead triggered something terrible?  Was he going to have to break his promise to her so soon?  No, no, he couldn’t!

        “By coming here,” Hel breathed, “you’ve forfeited your life.  Now, return your soul to the depths of Hel.”

And she brought her scythe down.

 

There was a heavy silence that followed.

        “How?”

The Queen stared down at Kiran, who had parried the blow with the worn edge of the Breidablik.  She was breathing hard, the barrel of the tool smoking.  Light poured from it and Kiran straightened slowly, lifting her steely gaze to Hel’s face.

        “I already told you,” said the Summoner, “Gods don’t die.”

        “You are not a God!” Hel seethed.

It was the first time Líf and Thrasir had seen her angry.  And yet, they could do nothing but stare; what had Kiran done?  How had she stayed the Queen’s blade?  No one could resist death’s call.

        “I have been drawn from a realm beyond compare,” Kiran said softly, “and as compensation, all of Zenith acknowledges my strength.  To kill me, Your Majesty, would mean to destroy the Nine Worlds themselves.”

Hel raised her scythe again, swinging it with vicious speed.  Kiran released the hold she’d had on Líf’s mantel.  It pooled at her feet.  She stood before the Queen of Helheim in only her nightgown, the Breidablik’s whirring reaching a fever pitch in her hand.

Hel’s scythe bounced harmlessly off the Summoner’s skin the moment it connected.

        “No!” the Queen hissed, “This isn’t possible.  You are not immortal!  You cannot be!!”  

She glanced over at Thrasir.  The former Empress of Embla shook her head; this was not the work of a hidden Emblian Ward.

Kiran swayed unsteadily and the Breidablik tumbled from her grasp.  The sound of its landing was muted by Líf’s mantel.

        “Others wield no power over me,” the Summoner said.

Her breaths were uneven and her grey fringe was plastered to her forehead, beads of sweat gleaming across her cheekbones.

        “But, Your Majesty, would you like to know my secret?  Do you want to know how to make my life yours?”

        “Tell me, Stranger.”

Kiran gave her a shaky smile and cupped her hands in front of herself. 

        “It’s here,” she said.

Hel squinted at her, distrusting.

        “You hold nothing; you mock me in my own court.”

The Summoner closed her eyes and shook her head.

        “That response alone is proof enough that you still don’t get it.”

        “Explain yourself.”

Kiran sighed.

        “ _This life of mine_ ,” she murmured, “ _freely I give it to you._ ”

 

Golden light poured from the Summoner’s bare feet, bleeding between the cracks of the cobblestone floor.  Kiran herself appeared to be glowing, her nightgown billowing around her like it was nothing short of divine gossamer.

        “Your Majesty,” Kiran breathed, extending her hands, “do you understand?”

Hel and her Generals did not move.  The Summoner herself was like a beacon of searing sunshine, her light bathing every dark nook, every dark cranny, illuminating the entire realm of Helheim in a way it was never meant to be.

Hel let go of her scythe.  It dispersed into streaks of inky smoke, leaving the Queen standing alone before Kiran.

        “Your life cannot be taken,” she said slowly.

        “It can only be given.”

Thrasir, curious more than anything else, lifted a hand and slung a spell.  It struck Kiran in the side and she gasped, sprawling across the Palace floor.

When it became clear that she was unconscious, Thrasir frowned.

        “Magic evidently still works,” she noted, “so this Summoner is not immortal.”

Líf watched his Queen, desperate for her reaction; what was to happen now?  Kiran herself had demonstrated that her life could not be seized as all others could.  Would Hel still search for a way to claim her soul?

        “Líf,” said the Queen, and her attention startled him from his thoughts.

        “My Queen,” he said, approaching and kneeling before her.

He hastily drew his mantel up and slung it back over his shoulder, securing it with the carcass of a pauldron he wore.  The Breidablik’s light flickered at his presence, detecting his Askran blood.

        “You are the one who brought this Stranger into my realm,” said Hel.

        “I am.”

It was time for punishment.  For bringing an abomination directly into Hel’s domain, he’d have to pay.  Líf closed his eyes. 

The Queen’s gaze slid over to where Kiran lay.

        “She is yours,” Hel said, gliding back to retake her place upon the dais, “take her to your quarters and await further orders.  I will decide what shall become of the two of you.”

        “Yes,” said Líf, who could not look her in the eye, “of course, My Queen.”

There was nothing else said as Líf slipped the Breidablik into his belt and drew Kiran’s body up into his arms.  Her face was waxy in the lamplight, an uncomfortable sheen of sweat turning her skin sickly pale.

 

***

 

It was the dead of night when Kiran woke.  The bed smelt faintly of jasmine and yesterday’s rain.

        “Líf-?”

When there was no response, the Summoner pulled herself to a stand and splayed her hands against the wall, blindly floundering about for a gaslamp.

Once she found one, it took a few tries before she got it lit.  But in the dim candlelight, she was able to confirm that it was Líf’s bedchamber.

        “Jesus Christ,” she swore, “I wasn’t sure that was gonna work.”

She still felt a bit unsteady—the power of Zenith did not come cheaply—but now, left alone, Kiran paced the room, curious.

 

It was sparsely furnished, the desk unmarked and bare.  The wardrobe was pushed up into one of the corners.  Inside, there were only a few select outfits.  Kiran drew one out and held it up to herself.  There was no mirror but she was confident it would fit her improperly.  Sighing, she returned it to its place and peeked into the washroom.

With the exception of a small footed bathtub and a collection of fragrant soap squares, it was uncomfortably spotless.  Dizzy, Kiran trailed back into the main room and returned to the bed.  She bent and took a slow inhale, breathing in the remainder of Líf’s light scent. 

She had never noticed it before now.  There wasn’t much more time to contemplate it however, as the door to the chamber came open and Líf entered.

        “You’re back,” Kiran said, relieved.

It had only just occurred to her that without him, she was entirely lost and alone in the Land of the Dead.

        “You’re awake,” Líf replied, coming to the bedside.

Though he’d been reluctant to sit beside her back in Askr, he seemed much more relaxed in his own chamber here in Helheim.

Before the Summoner could offer a reply, or an explanation, or anything really, Líf reached over and cupped her cheek in his chilly gauntlet.  And then he kissed her.

 

Kiran blinked at the sudden intimacy, her grey eyes wide as Líf ducked low, covering one of her hands with his own and crooking his neck so his lips would fit perfectly against hers.  When the Summoner did not pull away, Líf brought his other hand to the back of her head, holding her steady as he tasted her carefully.

        “ _Líf_ -,” Kiran whispered when they parted.

He’d left her breathless and she sucked in a ragged inhale, watching him quietly as she regained her composure.  Líf himself seemed somewhat distant despite his previous endeavour.

        “Líf,” the Summoner said again, “are you alright?”

His core was its usual bluish hue but something tight and uncomfortable balanced on the tightrope of tension suspended between them.

        “You are not like Kiran,” he said softly.

The Summoner blinked, momentarily lost.  As she recalled that Líf had had his own Summoner by the same name, she realised what he meant.

        “We’re different people,” she reminded.

Perhaps it was better to use his title from now on; it might’ve been tedious but that was better than being seen as the ghost of love lost.

        “If they had been like you,” the former King of Askr mused, “they would not have died.”

        “Lord Líf-,” Kiran began, lifting a hand as though to comfort him.

He jerked away from her and when he realised what he’d done, he refused to meet her gaze.

        “Summoner,” he said, and he slowly pulled himself from the bed, furthering the distance between them, “I-, need some time.”

Kiran watched as Líf lifted his hand to his exposed chin.  His mouthguard sheathed its way back up his face.  It felt as though Líf was putting up more physical barriers in place of mental ones.

The Summoner stretched out her hand, reaching-, always reaching-,

And there was nothing to grasp.  Líf didn’t stop.  Líf didn’t even look back.  He closed the door without another word and left Kiran sitting in the middle of his bed, alone.

 

        The Summoner was willing to let him be.  After all, she’d had practice with this sort of thing. 

Had she? 

It didn’t matter. 

When sleep came to claim her again, Kiran did not fight it.  If Líf needed to settle things in his mind regarding his own Summoner and Kiran herself, that was fine. 

It was fine.  The Summoner had chosen to come to Helheim with him.  If the power she’d been granted by Zenith itself was problematic, she would simply return to Askr.  Things would end there.  And that would be okay.  Even if it hurt.  Even if it was wrong.

 

Líf returned just before dusk.  He had no reason to climb into the bed—he didn’t require sleep like Kiran did—but he quietly removed his armour and pulled on a long nightshirt before easing in beside the Summoner.

Kiran’s body was radiating heat.  And despite their earlier interaction and parting on uncomfortable terms, when Líf spooned up against the Summoner, chilly chest absorbing her warmth, Kiran did nothing to stop him.

        “Líf-,” she slurred sleepily, voice hoarse from disuse.

He stiffened when he realised she was awake.

        “Summon-,”

When the former King of Askr went to pull his arm from where he’d slung it carelessly over her—in some distantly familiar gesture of intimate protection—Kiran caught his wrist.

        “Don’t,” she breathed, “don’t let me go.”

        “I-,”

        “Just for a bit longer,” she said, “just hold me for a bit longer.”

For a long moment, Líf didn’t move after Kiran released her hold on him.  He neither returned his arm to its previous position nor removed it entirely.

        “Kiran-,” Líf began and then stopped short.

How could he put things properly into words?  How could he articulate the overwhelming wellspring of emotion that was blooming in the void that sat nestled in the ghostly blue hue of his core?  Though he lacked a heart, some impossible feeling was bubbling to the surface.  Líf wasn’t sure what would happen once it revealed itself.

        “ _Kiran_ -,” he said again, desperate.

For some reason, even though she knew it wasn’t really her name, the Summoner felt her heart stutter at the sound of the name on Líf’s tongue.

        “I’ve-, never wanted-, to let you go.”

Startled by the admission, Kiran made as if to turn around.  But Líf buried his nose in the thick mass of her snowy hair, securing his arm back around her middle.

The Summoner blinked, surprised yet, as Líf tangled his chilly legs between hers.  And then, after a moment, the cold press of his lips against the back of her neck sent a shiver tripping down her spine.

        “Líf-,” she breathed, though it came out more like a hiss, “what-, what are you-,”

But his lips trailed across her skin again and she went quiet.  For a long while, the only sound was Kiran’s shaky breath as she resisted the urge to press back against Líf, desperate for more contact.

 

Even so, it seemed she wasn’t the only one who desired to touch.  Líf’s hand at her middle ghosted upwards, fingers deftly unclasping the buttons down the front of her gown. 

They were the same buttons he’d done up for her the evening before, right after they’d-,

Kiran pinked as the memory of Líf—progenitor of the Askran Line and First King—sinking to his knees to pleasure her rose unbidden I her mind.

        “Líf, I-,”

The former King of Askr tucked a hand into Kiran’s nightgown, a chilly palm kneading at her exposed breast.  The Summoner jolted at the touch, feeling all the mounting electricity within begin to curl up deliciously in her belly.  Her heartbeat was hammering beneath Líf’s hand and he hummed against her skin, thoughtful.

        “Your heart,” he murmured, and the brief contact of his lips against Kiran’s shoulder raised gooseflesh, “it beats with such ferocity.  Tell me, Summoner, are you afraid?”

        “Don’t be silly.  I’m not scared of you, Líf.  I’d never be scared of you.  You and I aren’t enemies.  We never have been.”

Líf closed his eyes and put his nose to her skin as he took this information in.  Things were getting dangerous between them.  And yet, the former King of Askr couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop himself.  Not this time.  Not with this Kiran.

 

        “So then,” he said finally, “that means that you-, that I-, am not the cause of this rapid beat?”

        “Oh no,” said Kiran, “you-, you certainly are.”

        “I am-, arousing you-, then?”

The Summoner let out the smallest of exasperated sighs.

        “Yes,” she said, somewhat impatient, “you are.  The way you’re touching me-, Jeez, even you just saying _that_ -,”

She trailed off and hunched her shoulders, uncharacteristically sheepish.

        “You’re just-, doing… all the right things, really winding me up, you know?  I feel like I’m short-circuiting every time you kiss me, Líf.”

        “I want to kiss you again,” he said, totally nonplussed by her admission.

Kiran rolled over to face him.  As Líf gazed down at her, skin nearly silver in the pale moonlight, she swore she could see the ghost of who he’d been.

        “Líf,” she breathed, lifting her head, “kiss me properly this time.  As myself.”

        “You are no one but you,” Líf answered, ducking down to press his lips to hers.

And he was right.

Kiran allowed herself to smile.

 

At her light chuckle, Líf pulled back, gaze searching hers.

        “You find my behaviour amusing?” he asked, seeming genuinely curious as to why she’d reacted in such a way.

Kiran gazed up at him quietly for a long moment.

        “It isn’t that,” she said finally, “it’s more like-, you’re seeing me for _me_.”

        “I am-, sorry for my actions earlier,” Líf offered, disappointed in himself, “I have trouble deciphering myself when it comes to you.  Sometimes, Summoner, you are so very familiar to me.  Perhaps it is merely the resemblance shared between you and my own Kiran that causes this.  But even so, it has contributed to-, it has caused me to hurt you.”

        “No, Líf-,”

        “And I’m sorry.  Truly.”

Kiran reached up and cupped his cheek in her hand.  The former King of Askr nestled closer, letting his eyes fall shut as her warmth permeated his skin.

        “Líf,” the Summoner breathed, “are you comfortable?”

He blinked.

        “I-,”

        “Back in Askr,” Kiran elaborated, “you seemed… I dunno, _agitated_.  So, I thought that maybe-, if you felt safer here, then maybe you and I could-,”

She trailed off.  Her cheeks were dark and she wouldn’t look at Líf.  He lifted a hand and cradled her cheek, brushing his thumb across her freckled cheekbone.

        “Kiran,” he breathed, “I-, am glad that you chose to come to Helheim with me.”

        “I like being with you,” she answered, lifting her hand to his, “sometimes I feel like I’m-, like I’m _meant_ to be with you.”

Líf’s gaze dropped down to her lips. 

        “Sleep with me?” Kiran said, looking up into his face from beneath her eyelashes.

Líf’s core swirled, rosy.

        “Yes,” he murmured, “please.”

 

***

 

The Summoner let Líf press her back against the mattress, chilly hands roaming as he parted her nightgown from her milky skin.

        “Kiss me again,” Kiran said.

There was an air of command in her voice but Líf seemed appreciative of it, mouth eagerly meeting hers.  Kiran relished in the feeling as Líf ducked to add a few marks to her pale throat.

His teeth were just shy of breaking skin with each mark and Kiran was writhing by the time he drew back to give her a moment’s respite.

        “Hey, Líf-,” Kiran bit out between pants, “not that I don’t love what we’re doing here but I’ve gotta ask: do you… have any oil?”

The former King of Askr blinked and leant back to rest on his knees, seeming to realise that yes, that would be necessary if this thing between them was going to continue.

        “I don’t mean to take us out of the moment,” Kiran said quickly, “because God knows I want you more than anything, but-,”

Líf lifted a hand and tapped her lips gently.

        “No words,” he said quietly, “I-, will ask Thrasir-,”

        “Already in the drawer, Glowstone.”

At the sound of the witch’s voice, Kiran let out a squeak and Líf whipped around so fast something in his neck made an audible popping noise.

        “Ouch,” he said.

 

Though her expression was shadowed by the way she had her back to Líf’s wide window, a few of Thrasir’s escaped giggles were enough to shed some light on her mood.  When it became clear she was fooling no one in trying to disguise them, she didn’t bother trying to hide her amusement.

Líf threw a pillow at her.  She slung it right back.

        “I knew!” Thrasir chirped with unprecedented glee, “I _knew_ this was what you were going to do!  You got sent back to your chamber like a child and here you are, doing something very _adult_!”

        “I _am_ an adult.”

        “I know,” she replied, “I’m just glad to see nothing’s changed.”

Líf pulled the hem of his nightshirt lower.  The blush of his core still streamed through the fabric.  Kiran snickered until he elbowed her.

        “Thank you, Thrasir,” the Summoner said, when it became clear that Líf had no intention of doing so.

Thrasir winked at her.

        “I’m relieved he has someone else to hang all over.  We’ve been lonely without you.”

Kiran frowned, trying to decipher the meaning in Thrasir’s words.  Even so, she didn’t miss the slight shake of Lif’s head.

Did he not want Kiran to know that they were lonely?

But it was more than that.  It was that last bit.

_“Without you.”_

“Anyway!” chirped Thrasir, “You’ve probably already realised but this prince is secretly a softy under all those spikes.”

Kiran giggled at her and then nodded sagely.

        “Ah, yes.  Tender-hearted Askrans.  They’re all like that, aren’t they?”

Líf waved a hand at Thrasir.

        “ _Red!_ ” he hissed, seeming almost genuinely annoyed with her, “I appreciate your meddling and the oil but please!”

Thrasir seemed disappointed by his reaction.

        “Listen, Líf-,”

        “That’s enough now,” he said, and he sounded much more resigned than Kiran had ever heard him.

The two Generals shared a look for what felt like a long while.  And then, without another word, Thrasir winked from existence, leaving the two of them alone.  All the tension dropped from Líf’s shoulders and he let out a long sigh.

Kiran watched him quietly.  He had behaved so openly with Thrasir at first.  And yet, with a few words, anxiety had wound its way around Líf like a vice.  And though he’d relaxed, there was still enough tension hanging in the air to make it difficult to take a breath.

 

“Líf,” Kiran said, pulling him back to the present.

        “Summoner,” he returned with uncharacteristic fondness, “I didn’t mean to make you wait.”

        “I don’t mind.”

She wanted to ask him to explain what she’d heard.  There was the issue of _without you_ but Kiran hadn’t missed Thrasir calling Lif a prince.

_But he’s the progenitor of the Askran Line… surely he would’ve simply been a King.  Why did she call him…?_

There was something going on that they were hiding from Kiran.  But when she turned her attention back upon Líf, her words dissolved on her tongue.

Líf was gazing down at her, his expression still just as worn—just as haunted—as when they’d first met.  And yet his core was swirling rosy, hands so cautious and careful with each touch.

He gazed at Kiran for what felt like a long while.  And then he kissed her again.  This time though, there was a desire, a desperation, a _hunger_ that goaded him into a rough rush.  Every touch came too slowly, every moan just shy of enough, every spark of delicious, toe-curling tension between them just skirting ecstasy.

        “ _Kiran_ -,” Líf rasped out, “I need-,”

        “I know, I know,” she murmured, hooking her hands right below the curves of his ass, “come closer now, I want to touch you.”

        “I-,”

        “C’ _mon_ ,” the Summoner encouraged, “you did so much for me yesterday evening.  The least I can do is make this good for the both of us.”

Before Líf had time to offer an alternative, Kiran tucked a hand around his cock, fingers curling perfectly just beneath the swollen head.

Líf tossed his head back and gave an honest-to-God gasp at the attention.

        “S-Summoner-,” he choked out, “I-, that’s-,”

        “It’s good, right?”

He nodded, jerking his head with dizzy enthusiasm.

        “Yes-, yes, so _good_ -,” murmured Líf.

Kiran pumped her hand up and down his length experimentally, eager to watch his expression contort with pleasure as she found his most sensitive places.

 

“Summon-, _Summoner_ -,” Líf hissed, breathless, “I can’t-,”

For a long moment, Kiran didn’t even hear him.  She could only stare, entranced by the way he was perching so beautifully over her, bucking helplessly into her fist, practically choking on his own desperate moans.

And then Kiran blinked, realising Líf was about to spill himself between them.  Who knew Askr’s First King could be reduced to such a needy mess so easily?  He almost reminded her of-,

She shook her head before the thought could be completed; no good would come from that.  Not now, not after Kiran had fled Askr for such selfish desire.  Perhaps she belonged in Hel after all; abandoning her position as Summoner to the Order—even if only for a brief time—that was no different than oathbreaking.

        “Now,” breathed Líf as Kiran released him, “you’ve had your fun riling me up, Summoner.”

Kiran shrugged, “I didn’t think it’d be so easy.”

        “You’ll pay for that,” he assured her, “now it’s your turn.”

The Summoner opened her mouth to return a quip but Líf caught her words with his tongue, shoving her legs apart with an impatience Kiran did not associate with him.

 

Líf wasted no time slathering the borrowed oil across his fingers before slowly lowering his hand to his weeping cock.

        “ _Summoner-,_ ” he breathed, gazing down at her beneath him, “Kiran, I-, fear I will not have as much patience as I did in Askr.”

        “That’s fine,” the Summoner murmured, breathless as Líf slipped a finger into her.

When she hummed deliciously at his touch, Líf was quick to reward her with another.

        “Yes-, just like that-,” hissed Kiran as Líf crooked his fingers inside her cunt.

The former King of Askr sucked in a shallow breath as Kiran jerked her hips, giving in to her need.  She was so eager for him, opening up so willingly, as though this thing between them—this blossoming bond—was the most natural one in the whole wide worlds.

        “I’m good,” Kiran murmured, eyes rolling until she could focus on Líf hovering above her, “I’m good to go, okay?”

The former King of Askr didn’t need to be told twice; he couldn’t get inside her fast enough.  But Kiran didn’t seem to mind the moment of emptiness before Líf lined himself up and pressed into her.

       

“ _Finally,_ ” Kiran breathed, and there was little resistance as the former King of Askr sheathed himself within her.

        “Kiran-,” Líf all but growled, setting his hands to her hips in an effort to pin her down.

        “Move,” the Summoner said, breathless, “c’mon, _Líf_ , patience is not my strong suit-,”

Líf was more than willing to obey; something about this, about having the Summoner splayed out and needy beneath him-,

It was good.  No, it was more than that.  It was damn near perfect.

Kiran reached out blindly, hand searching for Líf’s.  He folded his fingers between hers with his free hand, keeping the other down at her hip.

The Summoner groaned as Líf made his first earnest thrust into her.  His hands were shaking but Kiran made no comment.

        “It’s okay-,” she choked out, “you’re okay.  You’re doing so well, Líf.”

At the sudden praise, Líf’s core swirled and he bucked further into her.  A ragged sound slipped out from between his lips as he fucked into his Summoner, lost in her sweet heat.

        “Just like that-,” Kiran encouraged, impressively coherent, “you’re almost there, Líf.”

        “Kiran, I-,”

His pace began to falter, grip at the Summoner’s hip turning bruising as he chased his own rising pleasure.

        “That’s it, that’s it-,”

Líf squeezed Kiran’s hand in his own, bending to capture her mouth in a kiss.  He tasted her desperately, tongue insistent between her lips.

        “I can hardly-, get enough of you-,” he rasped against her mouth.

Kiran was dizzy when he finally withdrew and the words seemed to take forever to register.  When they did, she tensed up beneath him, her cunt griping around Líf’s cock like a vice.

        “You-, liked that?” he choked, intrigued despite himself.

        “Yes-,” the Summoner answered, breathless, “I’m very selfish.  I want to be loved.”

Líf kissed her again on the next thrust.  Kiran squirmed beneath him as the beginnings of her orgasm began to well up.  It was the sort of electrical sensation that tickled her toes and crept up her legs, culminating deliciously between them.

        “You are loved,” Líf said, and the words fell naturally.

And Kiran believed him.

If he intended to say more, it was lost; the rest of Líf’s sentence fell apart in a gasp as Kiran finally rocked against him.  The movement was enough to have Líf sheathing himself in his entirety and Kiran choked on a cry as her orgasm bloomed within her.

 

Líf squeezed her hand through it and she lay twitching beneath him as he continued to mount his own release.

        “Kiran-,” he murmured, “Kiran-,”

The Summoner gazed up at him, breathing raggedly.

        “That’s it, that’s it,” she said again, voice gentle as Líf began to lose himself to the pleasure, “cum for me now, My Prince.”

And he did.

Distantly, Kiran knew she should’ve been ashamed to call him by the nickname she had always and only ever used with Alfonse.

It was damn near sacrilege to use the title with anyone else.

But it had come so naturally.

And Líf’s response was not lost on Kiran.  She hummed, pleased when Líf’s hips jerked as he orgasmed, as he spilt himself within her.  She hooked a leg over his hip to keep him close as he rode his orgasm and finished inside her.

As Kiran basked in her afterglow, Líf lazily kept fucking into her until his cock began to soften.  The Summoner let out a breathless sound; the feel of Líf within her, casually sliding in and out, the touch unintentionally teasing—it was overstimulation.

        “ _Líf_ -,” Kiran choked, “that’s-, too much, it’s too much-,”

Seeming to realise what he was doing, the former King of Askr quickly released her, drawing himself back from his place between Kiran’s legs.

All the tension left her body and Líf couldn’t help but watch as his cum slowly seeped from between her thighs.  The sight of it was enough to give him a renewed desire but Líf simply lifted his gaze to Kiran’s face.

 

The Summoner looked about ready to cry.  Líf did not ask why and instead, simply laid down beside her and pulled her against his chest.

Kiran inhaled his soft scent and sighed as a long-lost relief spread through her.

        “Summoner,” Líf said, and Kiran felt the vibration of his voice through his breastbone, “the Land of the Dead is a desolate place.  There is no kindness to be found here.”

The Summoner blinked slowly; why was Líf telling her this?

        “This is how my Queen wants it.  Even so, just along the border, between this world and the next-,”

Kiran stared into his face, desperate for him to continue; she was desperate for any information, anything that would lead to answers about their earlier interaction with Thrasir.

_This is so familiar.  Dammit! If only I could remember!!_

“There lies a meadow,” Líf murmured, and the intonation in his voice was like the ebb and flow of a settling sea, “it is filled with beauty, the only place where life blossoms in this whole wide wicked realm.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Líf pressed a kiss to Kiran’s forehead, “Because, Summoner, I-, I want you to see it.”

Kiran closed her eyes and rested her head against the former King of Askr’s chest.

        “Okay,” she said, and the word was clumsy in her mouth.

        “It’s alright,” Líf said, although Kiran wondered if he was saying it more to himself than to her, “you can rest now.  I’ll stay with you, Summoner.”

Kiran nodded wordlessly and took a slow inhale of Líf’s scent.  His presence was so calming, his natural chill easing the worry that had been winding itself around Kiran since her first few days in Zenith.  She wished she’d met him then, right then and there.  If he had been there, right alongside the Commander and the others, she would’ve been okay.  She was certain of it.

“If only we could turn back the clock,” Kiran muttered to herself.

Líf’s embrace tightened around her but he offered no comment.  Kiran drifted to sleep in his arms.

 

***

 

It was midday when Kiran woke.  Líf was still holding her, fingers lazily toying with a strand of her wild hair.  She was readying a comment but her voice caught in her throat when-,

        “It’s getting more difficult now, Glowstone.  Hel knows we’re plotting something.  I’m certain she knows we intend to take back the heart.”

Kiran frowned.

_Whose heart?  Líf’s?_

He’d certainly mentioned it when they’d first met, that he was missing his heart.  But Kiran had taken it to be more metaphorical, not-, not physical.

_Did Hel truly remove his heart?  And if so, why?  He’s one of her Generals, so why would she have any reason to do such a terrible thing?_

        “I’m to blame,” Líf answered quietly, “if I hadn’t brought the Summoner to this place, our Queen would never have-,”

        “It’s not your fault.  And besides, we cannot complete the ritual on our own.  You need the heart back, you know that.”

        “Yes,” said Líf, and he sounded uncharacteristically forlorn, “but even with all your magic, still it remains hidden.”

        “Hel is clever,” Thrasir agreed, “she would not make it easy to find.  She knows that if we reclaim it, you and I will be able to take back what is ours.”

Kiran’s frown deepened; was this somehow linked to the tension between them from earlier?

_If it is, the lack of a heart doesn’t explain this strange relationship that binds the three of us together…_

        “Once I retake the heart, it will become possible for us to change things once again.  But-, what about Eir?”

Thrasir refused to look at him.

        “I don’t know,” she said, “I really don’t know.  What will happen to anyone?  The Commander of the Order?  My brother?  Your-,”

She trailed off and then-,

        “The Summoner.”

Líf’s fingers stopped their movement in Kiran’s hair.

        “Your memories are coming back now, aren’t they?  Bit by bit, the more time you spend with this Summoner, the more you return to your old self.”

Líf said nothing.  But he tensed just enough for Kiran to feel it; why did this upset him so?  What was he so desperately trying to hide away?

_If the heart is found, will he be alright again?_

        “Listen, Líf,” said Thrasir, and she finally turned to look at him, gaze blazing, “do you remember how this story ends?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cant wait to see that meadow although,,, i wonder,,, where has Hel hidden the heart? and what will it take for the damn thing to be retrieved?
> 
> once again, thank you for all your support! it means a lot! <3


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